


Secondhand

by cassandra_leeds (The_Circadian)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Danger, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Fear, Heaven's Civil War, M/M, Molestation, Original Character Death(s), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:57:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5091623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Circadian/pseuds/cassandra_leeds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5091515">Firsthand</a></p><p>Takes place at some point after "The French Mistake." Even now Sam's back and Castiel is busy with the war in Heaven, Castiel can't stop thinking of that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secondhand

  
  
  


Castiel realizes too late just how wrong this path is, how the right one was somewhere else, so far back he’s not even sure even where the paths diverged. Where was the right direction he should have gone? Somewhere back before Sam had wrapped around him, soulless and cold – a tarantula gently stinging prey already stunned with indecision.

He watches Dean and Sam hold each other even from across the room, like neither can believe that the other is really there. Like it’s too good to be completely true that they can have each other without consequences.

But it’s true. Castiel watches Sam and Dean slow down at times, lingering in the inbetween moments and savoring them. But they keep going because they’re still hunters, and the world doesn’t stop for them.  _Because_  of them, yes, but not lately.

Nothing slows down for Cas though.

When he was with them briefly after saving them from Raphael, he was exhausted. He had no time to explain the war to Sam and Dean, and no energy for it either. But with Sam in the room watching him, there was that thrumming in his chest that made him want to stay. His cheeks grew hot. It was difficult to think. Castiel could still smell him from months before, feel him pressed wet against him, breathing in his ear.  _Why not? Why not?_

And Castiel knows this isn’t  _that_  Sam, can feel it. This Sam isn’t empty anymore. Castiel’s fingers had gently touched over Sam’s soul to make sure it was intact once Death had left. He’d heard it scream and whimper in response, then gasp and flail, fighting for all it was worth to live. Deep inside, Sam’s soul is flayed and stinging, but anesthetized. The trick to painkillers, he’d heard Dean say once, is that you know there’s pain, you just don’t care. Castiel wonders if Sam senses the pain. He wonders if he could help, even if Sam could feel it.

He tries to embrace Sam once not long after that and he only tries it once, because Sam recoils from his touch, and the rejection is almost too much for Cas. He suddenly wants to touch Sam so badly, he feels like he’s starving. It’s momentarily such a strong desire he feels himself sway with lost balance, makes him grip his fists tight. It’s unbelievably hard to turn away, but it is the only way to ease the pain of the blow and the guilt behind it. Because surely Sam’s aversion to him must be because he remembers what happened.

Surely, it must be that the guilt is just too much for Sam to bear.

So when Castiel asks how he’s doing and Sam says he’s doing alright with tears in his eyes, but needs clarity on some of the details of what happened when he was soulless, Castiel obliges. He waits for it to come up. After every answer Castiel gives, he waits for Sam to suck in his breath and ask if, oh, God, had he– to him—? Because Castiel would be ready to forgive. He’d be ready to hold him close, kiss his forehead, and wordlessly tell him it’s alright and he forgives him, always will. Sam will pull him in closer, push his hands under his trenchcoat and whisper,  _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Cas, please, let me make it good this time, let me make it okay._ Castiel’s chest is tight, and the rush of just how much he needs it, just how much he craves it, leaves him feeling like his vessel is trying to hurt itself. The desperate ache between his legs is nearly unbearable. His palms are wet, his mouth dry. He processes that this is arousal, and the horror of it doesn’t lessen the want.

 _Ask me, ask me_ , he pleads in his mind, but the question never comes. And Castiel knows. There is no recognition, no mirroring of longing from Sam. There is guilt, but for unknown evils, and Sam doesn’t remember.

Sam is silent for a long while, nodding to himself, and then says, “Cas, could you give me some time alone?” He gets up and Cas hears the tension in Sam’s voice. Castiel rises, is about to try and put his hand on Sam to give him some comfort, but rethinks it. Maybe it’s better they don’t touch. It’s probably best if Sam doesn’t remember anything of Cas but what he knows now. Telling Sam he forced himself on Castiel after all of he’s said already could risk scratching the Wall if he truly doesn’t remember, and Castiel wouldn’t risk Sam. If Castiel has to suffer alone, at least it’s a situation he’s familiar with.

Castiel disappears into space, relocates himself into a plane of existence where this feeling of loss isn’t accompanied by an unrelenting physical desire for release. He stays in this empty space for the little time he can afford before he’s back on the battlefield, spread before him, red with carnage and battle cries on the air, shouts tinged with betrayal.

He wonders though, in brief moments of quiet where the only sound is the hushed grief of his fellow brothers waiting for the next attack: Of all the small and vaguely faint memories Sam recalls, does Sam remembers anything of that night, his hands holding Cas in place, like a setting holding a stone? What had Cas missed with his own eyes shut tight? Along with the television, what else had been destroyed? What else had changed? Did books fall from their shelves? Did the lamps flicker, did the room go dark? Had light streamed from his own mouth and between Sam’s fingers as Sam covered it to hold back Castiel’s shout of climax? Had his wings shadowed the walls behind in a shuddering flail of darkness, a dark electric push of wind? Had he missed Sam cataloguing it all into his memory, deep but close enough to the surface to be recalled now?

He’s watched Sam and noted where they stand: Sam won’t touch him, Sam won’t recognize his worry or guilt, and from what Castiel can tell there isn’t much that points towards Sam remembering anything that transpired between them, unless the silence is a sign. Castiel can’t tell though, and though Castiel doesn’t want to admit it, the uncertainty is driving him mad with inner turmoil that rivals his confusion of a year earlier, when he left Heaven’s order to fight for what he believed was right. He doesn’t know if this feeling he has now, this need for closeness from Sam despite the sourness he feels inside at the wrongness of the first time, is right. In fact he’s almost sure because of this duality that this feeling is in all ways not one he should linger on, that he should leave it alone and let it die along with other things that have complicated him in the past.

But he can’t.

He can’t let it go.

No matter where he goes, no matter what actions he takes to avoid Dean and especially Sam, it’s still there. He finds himself consumed with thoughts, drowns himself in a past place where Sam is still pushing him over the edge, that momentary connection with someone where nothing else mattered but  _feeling_.

He forgets himself a number of times, deeply steeped in the idea of traveling back in time to that night to have it just one more time. Just once more.

He knows it’s wrong. He knows he can’t.

But his arms are more and more often covered up to his elbows in his own brothers’ and sisters’ blood, the dead diamond particles of them stinging his eyes from the fallout, fingers slipping on the sword in his grip as he runs, and Sam still holds him until he can’t breathe, can’t do anything but give in and let it happen, let it happen, let it happen.

Castiel is sobbing, pulling gore off of him, out of his own hair, out of his sleeves, parts of a sister he once taught how to fly, had planned attacks with millennia ago. Sarah. Castiel weeps, alone.

He doesn’t believe he’s capable of what he’s doing until he’s doing it, until Sam is under him trying to fight away.

Sam is alone on his bed reading when Castiel appears. He starts to get up, falters when Castiel doesn’t respond to his friendly greeting. His face changes to one of concern as Castiel nears, and Sam raises himself completely only to be shoved back down. Castiel’s mouth is on Sam’s, his hands are ripping open Sam’s shirt so fast Sam barely has time to process a cry, sucks in his breath around the forced kiss.

Castiel presses Sam down, whispering, “Let me, Sam, please, just…”

“What—Cas?” Sam gasps in fear and confusion, as he manages to turn his head away to force out protest. “Cas, stop.” Sam sounds like he’s been punched, breath ragged and words torn. “Stop it!”

Castiel pushes Sam down on to the mattress, and Castiel feels sick inside, because he can tell Sam didn’t see this coming and if he had any doubt before now, it’s gone, because there is his answer; Sam doesn’t remember anything. If he did there would be regret somewhere in the energy Castiel feels emanating off of him. All Castiel can feel is confusion tinged with fear.

He doesn’t want to force this. He wants Sam to want this. He wants Sam to want it again like Cas does, this never ending pull of painful need that deepens by the day, but he can’t see another way.

“Please,” Cas begs, even as he’s covering Sam and violently rubbing himself down against him, Sam squirming. “Please, Sam.”

“Slow down, Cas,” Sam says, voice strained and breathless, vulnerable. It’s half an order, half a plea. “Just slow down.”

And Cas does, he slows slightly, rolls his hips in a slow wave over Sam, rigid beneath him, but doesn’t let him go. He doesn’t want to risk losing this now he’s got it within his reach.

“Sam, I need it,” he whispers urgently into the hot curve of Sam’s neck. “I need it.”

Sam’s heart is a hammer against his and his breathing is quick, but he takes a deep shaking breath and murmurs, “Okay, Cas.”And Cas feels him relax under him just slightly. “Okay.”

Castiel brings his hands to Sam’s face, holds, but firmly, not able to let Sam go now he’s caught him like stunned rabbit. Sam is looking Cas right in the eyes when Castiel looks down, and Castiel tries to read him, can’t tell if Sam’s words were complete consent because Sam’s gaze is still baffled and there’s too much there.

But then Sam’s leg moves over just barely and Castiel slowly sinks into the warmth between Sam’s thighs. Sam makes a small, low sound as Castiel’s erection presses against him, and Castiel feels Sam echo his own shudder as Castiel ruts from the friction of Sam’s cock just as hard against his.

He wonders, as he pivots himself against Sam again, if Sam senses that this isn’t the first time they’ve been this close, as their breath mingles with moisture between them, that this road has been walked down once at least in one way. They’re both different people now, and Castiel knows this. He isn’t the angel he was a month ago and Sam is newly remade and barely held together, under him, sighing his name. And it’s the same body that broke Castiel once before, but how much of that body is Sam? Sam bucks up against him and Castiel can’t help but wonder if there is an unconscious part of Sam that can recall that intimacy with Cas, even if he consciously can’t.

And then, even more terrifying, the thought occurs to Castiel - did Sam  _always_  want this? Before Hell? Before everything?

Something about that thought makes Castiel’s chest ache. Could he have done this long ago if he knew it would feel so good? If he knew Sam could feel so good pressed up against him like this? If he knew Sam would open to him like this, all hard need and soft breath?

Castiel loosens his grip and lets out a shaking sigh close to a sob, places one hands on the warm skin of Sam’s neck and the other over Sam’s heart, drowns the regret with a kiss that knocks his teeth against Sam’s. It’s a flare of pain, but Castiel chases it with the push his tongue under Sam’s lip, sucks and he feels a new kind of thrill pull through him at Sam’s moan - he’s doing this to Sam, he’s making Sam feel this.

Sam gasps, “Cas,” hand fumbling for Castiel’s hand, grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand down to the hardness straining in his jeans. Cas hears the need in his name on Sam’s tongue, feels it in the jerk of hip Sam gives into Cas’ loose grip over hard flesh hidden beneath tight, rough denim.

Somewhere, far off in the back of Castiel’s mind, something is screaming at him to stop as he opens Sam’s fly and pushes the remainder of Sam’s shirt up. As Sam fumbles to open Castiel’s trousers and reach in, Castiel hears a siren going off in his ears. If Sam sees this, if he feels this from Castiel, it’s a risk. It might be the last risk. It might destroy Sam, and Castiel feels terror grip his insides as he imagines Sam coming and then going limp under him, never to return again, or screaming in psychic pain, madness.

It’s almost enough, almost enough to make Castiel stop, but then Sam’s fingers push through his underwear, grip surrounding his cock, skin to skin, and Castiel is frozen, jolted breathless by how good it feels, how it’s even better - oh, god, it’s so much better - now he knows where that feeling leads, and he can’t help but push into that the tight circle of sensation. He feels it rush through every inch of him.

Sam is making sounds, as encouraging as they are desperate, body pushing up, one arm reaching around to grasp furiously at Castiel’s coat. Castiel hears something like a growl from Sam as he pushes up into Castiel’s hand for more, his own grip on Castiel’s cock twitching as he makes a quick guttural shaking sound and strains.

“Come on,” he grits out, fingers digging into Castiel’s back through his trenchcoat, the soft sound of it drowned out quickly by Sam’s moan as he sputters, “Cas, I’m—Cas, fuck, don’t stop,” through his teeth, “Don’t—”

Castiel doesn’t, but finds himself consumed suddenly with watching this. He’d never gotten to see Sam come undone, and now that he can, now Sam’s in front of him, spread out like this, he wants to see Sam’s climax more than he wants it for himself. Castiel strokes faster as Sam bucks up under him, and Castiel pulls back enough to see Sam, flushed and sweaty, completely wrecked and alive, head snapping back in a silent shout, a bitten off gasp as he floods Castiel’s fist and slicks his own stomach with stripes of come that shine on him in the low light.

Castiel is shaking as he watches Sam come down, glistening with sweat, red cheeked and utterly broken. Castiel can’t stop staring because Sam’s beautiful. He’s beautiful like this.

Guilt engulfs Castiel suddenly, a deep and frightening guilt at what he just risked, what he’s still risking just being in this room. Sam’s eyes open as he sits up to Castiel backing away, eyes averted and shaking his head with small shuddering breaths. But Sam reaches out and catches Castiel by his lapel and his arm, half raised before him as if halfheartedly blocking an attack, hand still wet with Sam’s come.

“No, no.” Sam’s voice trembles as he sinks down with Castiel to the floor. “Don’t do that.”

Castiel tries to curl in on himself, tries to will himself to disappear, leave this place and Sam with it, but Sam’s hands cupping his face hold him in this room now with something stronger than just their physical strength, something unyielding and unseen. But now, this close, Castiel can see it for what it is; it’s care. Castiel lets out a shuddering breath. He should go. He’s sobered enough by the shock to leave without what he came here for. He’s done enough already. He’s done enough harm.

“Hey,” Sam whispers, breath warm over Castiel’s head, an echo of months back. But there is love there now, and there is love in the thumb rubbing over his cheek, wiping away tears Castiel hadn’t even known he had wept. “It’s okay, Cas.” Castiel shakes his head, but Sam persists, hushing, “No, it’s okay.”

Heat washes over Castiel in a wave, burning hot and sweet, and he realizes a moment into it that Sam is kissing him, mouth covering his and breathing deep. And he clings to it. This might be it, this might be all there is, all he gets, and he holds onto Sam for dear life, sucking down the taste of him, the smell of him, everything Sam is in this moment, because Castiel can feel what Sam is in this moment is all for Cas. And it hurts because this is the last Castiel can have of it ever again. He can’t risk this again.

“Do you want to?” Sam breathes, breaking the kiss, and Castiel’s eyes shoot open. He’s heard these words before. Sam’s hand covers his half hard cock and Castiel jerks up. How many times has he heard those words echoing in his head since that night at Bobby’s? Sam’s hand rubs over him gently, a caress of fingers, and it’s all too similar. He should stop him, he should stop. It shouldn’t be doing what it’s doing to him to have this Sam echo the soulless one that did this first, should it? He shouldn’t be harder than he was moments before. But it’s all Castiel has thought about for weeks, these words, these nimble and strong fingers wrapping around him, and he can’t make his hands push Sam off. They grip instead to the torn remnants of Sam’s shirt and pull him in, push their way to the hot skin of Sam’s waist, still moist with come, and he groans as he feels his body spasm, precome making Sam’s stroke over him a supple glide of blinding sensation. But he shouldn’t – oh, god, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t—

Castiel gasps as Sam leans over and heated breath washes over his groin, chokes and bites back a shout as Sam licks over the wet crown of his cock and then sucks him in. He nearly screams as he tenses, because this is different, so much different than anything he’s felt and it’s almost beyond feeling good, goes to the point of pleasure and then off into some vibrating painfully intense place he’s not ready for at all. Sam hums around him and Castiel squirms away with strangled sound.

Sam whips up, immediately, and goes back to slowly working Cas with his hand. “Too much, I’m sorry,” Sam says with a barely there smile as he exhales a laugh, meets Castiel’s eyes and is thrown by what he’s met with there, hand at Castiel’s neck again. “Hey, don’t be scared.”

Castiel manages to shake his head, but then arches up as Sam twists his stroke slightly. “Sam…” He bites back the pleas in his throat, body betraying him with a sharp and reflexive push up into the circle of Sam’s fist, now hurtling him closer and closer to the edge.

“It’ll feel good, Cas,” Sam says, pumping relentlessly. “Just let go.” And Cas feels like a liar even though he doesn’t say a word. Because Sam thinks this is his first time, their first time. If there is any kindness left in the world for either of them, it will stay that way.

Sam slows down his rhythm over Castiel’s cock until Castiel is thrusting up into every stroke, until he’s straining for it, weeping for it, gritting out a groan as Sam whispers again, “Just let go. That’s it.” Sam speeds up his hand and Castiel moans low and tenses as Sam’s words shoot through him, “Just like that, just like that.”

_Like this? Like this?_

Castiel bucks into Sam’s fist and comes, orgasm pulling through him, pulling a sound out of him he’s never made before as it takes him higher and higher, Sam’s voice far away and encouraging, soft words full of awe. He’s still clinging to Sam’s shirt, spasming with aftershocks, as Sam whispers into his hair, positive sounds and reassurances.

“So beautiful, oh, God, Cas, so beautiful,” Sam is breathing, hands cupping Castiel’s cheeks as he gasps for air.

Castiel kisses Sam, suddenly, franticly, pulls Sam’s face to his until all he can feel is what they are now mixed together, sweat and come and tears and spit, kissing Sam so hard Castiel imagines blood mixing into their flavor. Sam makes a small broken sound into Castiel’s mouth and Cas feels a sick desperation grow inside himself, different from his need from moments before. He wants this, he wants this love. He wants Sam. More than anything, he wants to be able to have this again and often. Always.

But he can’t. He cares about Sam enough in this moment to know he can’t. He knows if he really truly loves Sam that this was it. It’s over.

He holds Sam close, foreheads pressed.

“It won’t happen again,” Castiel says quietly.

Sam lets out a baffled breath, mouth working to find words.

“This  _can’t_  happen again, Sam,” Castiel says, making his voice as level as possible.

This is grief, Castiel thinks. This is a new and worse kind of grief because there is nothing here that can be buried; what is here between them has to go on living alone, wasting away forever.

Sam considers his words, and Castiel can hear the hurt when he asks, “Because of the war?”

Castiel has never been good at deceiving. He wasn’t built to do it. He stays silent and it seems to serve as an answer for Sam.

Sam breathes out through his nose, biting back words, and nods against Castiel’s furrowed brow.

“I,” Sam tries, when Castiel doesn’t move away. “I understand you need to do what you need to do. I’ve always understood that.” He presses his lips to Castiel’s temple. “Just don’t shut me out, okay?”

He wishes he hadn’t looked back. Space and time bends around him, meshing and forming into the shouts of his brothers and sisters, the cries of death, the snaps of breaking wings, the screams of agony. He wishes he hadn’t seen Sam’s face as he’d fallen back into darkness, because now he’s flying past dying faces that burn from the inside out, and instead of reliving Sam first holding him like a gentle predator until he broke apart, all he can see is regret on the face of brokenhearted man, a man who wants to give Cas what he needs.

Castiel steps over the remnants of his brethren, the remains of them cutting the soles of his feet like so many shards of glass and channels the longing like a sword.  He spreads his wings wide and charges into dark chaos, a disappearing shadow amongst violent shadows.

 


End file.
